The Death of a Bachelor
by Teekl
Summary: (AU) When you leave for an adventure, you just don't come back the same person. People change, habits change (at least there are some consistencies, like nosy neighbors who simply won't leave you and your spoons alone). But sometimes, what you really need is someone as eccentric as yourself to complete you. After all, if you're going to be odd, you may as well be an odd pair.
1. Musings, Memories and Silverware

It was a particularly beautiful, shining, ideal day to be cross.

And why shouldn't he be? Those nasty Sackville-Bagginses were at it again. Sackville! Even the _name_ sounded perfectly pilfer-ish. Bagging is all fine and dandy, but no one that has anything to do with _sacking_ can ever be up to any good. It's certainly not a respectable pastime. It was a perfect opportunity to be cross, and yet, he couldn't make himself cross today. It was simply too much fun to play with Lobelia, and there was simply too much to look forward to.

He'd just been getting ready to send out the invitations to his fifty-first birthday. To think, it had been nearly a year since he'd first set out for that Lonely Mountain! All starting with that gray old wizard, Gandalf. What a shock for the poor Hobbit, learning that fireworks were the least that wizard could do! As his quill glided easily over the blanched parchment, Bilbo allowed himself to get lost in his musings. He remembered it all...the good and the bad. Memories that he would never forget. Friends that would always have a place in his heart. He soon found himself glad of the fact that he was nearly through with the invitations, because he felt that if he dwelt on the subject much longer, his hand might start to tremble. And it simply wouldn't do to send out splotchy, untidy invitations.

It took a bit longer than expected to get all the letters properly folded and sealed in their envelopes, mostly because he was fumbling dreadfully with them. When he finally did, he stacked them up in a neat pile and tapped the edges against the desk to straighten them out. Now, all that was left was to go out and mail them. At this point, the Hobbit finally felt that he had gotten a rein on the memories again, and his hands were much steadier as he opened the circular, green front door to his cozy Smial. He set his hairy feet outside and shut the door behind him, then turned around with a content smile, expecting to feel the full warmth of the sun on his face, reflected in the lush, ideal condition of the green grass swaying all around him.

Instead, he felt the sneer of a most unpleasant face gazing on him. His eyes, which had been closed against the heat of the sunlight, opened just wide enough to create a half-lidded frown. "...Good morning, Lobelia," he sighed. The greeting was more obligatory civility than anything else, and he just barely resisted the urge to add, _Have you finished using my spoons, yet?_ He was still convinced that she was the one who had stolen them. She always did have an eye for his silverware.

Mrs. Sackville-Baggins sniffed, as though he'd just said something terribly rude. "Good morning, Master Baggins," she said stiffly, craning her neck from the other side of the fence.

They stood there in stubborn silence for a few moments. Mrs. Sackville-Baggins looked like she expected him to approach the fence near the mailbox, probably eager to nose into his business and see what he was mailing, but he would not take a single step down the hill until she was far enough away to the point where he could no longer sense her prying eyes.

"What have you got there?" she asked at last, breaking the silence. Filled with a sense of triumph over not having been the first to speak, Bilbo resolved to step down towards the mailbox after all, until he was face-to-face with his _dear_ cousin in-law.

He chuckled a little, then fixed her with a smirk, "Wouldn't you like to know?"

"Those are invitations to your birthday, aren't they?" Lobelia demanded, scrunching up her face most unpleasantly. "I know it's coming up."

"How thoughtful of you to remember."

"Well, you may as well give me my invitation right now, Bilbo. No need to waste money mailing it when I'm standing right here..." she eyed him suspiciously. "...not that you really have the need to be frugal, what with all that...you know..."

Bilbo knew full well that she was referring to the rumors of the alleged "mountains of gold" he was hiding in his Smial, but he took great pleasure in tilting his head and playing the fool, "I do beg your pardon?"

Lobelia shook her head and plastered on a forced-looking smile, "Oh, nevermind. Just hand me the invitation and I'll be on my way..."

"Ah. Of course," Bilbo simpered, shuffling through the envelopes for an extremely nonexistent one addressed to the Sackville-Bagginses. "...hmm, that's strange. It's not here." He gave an innocent shrug. "Must've left it inside. You'll forgive me, I hope? I've been rather absentminded lately, afraid it's all my fault."

Lobelia made another ugly face, brushing a strand of curly dark hair behind her ear and toting her lime green parasol a little higher. She seemed to read between the lines. "Oh. That's quite alright. I really should be on my way, though, Otho is waiting."

"Right then. Have a lovely day," he replied, not meaning a single word of it and waving her off. When at last she disappeared from sight, he couldn't help but smirk again. He knew the only reason Lobelia wanted to be invited to any party of _his_ was simply so that she could say she was invited, and also so that she and her husband could barge into his home and survey his property as though it already belonged to them. After all, Bilbo's silverware wasn't the only thing those Sackville-Bagginses were after.


	2. The Green Dragon Inn

Later that day, Bilbo found himself strolling down to the Green Dragon Inn, on a quest to make some special arrangements for his party. What with all the guests he had invited, he would need a good deal of sustenance...not only food, but good drink, too. Initially, he'd thought he would have a comfortable, small get-together and invite his closer friends, but it had somehow grown into something much larger. Now, his guest-list could probably stretch across his front lawn. He wasn't sure how many would actually be eager to attend...after all, they had already started to whisper about him behind his back. Not that he minded. It just made him wonder how many were going to attend. Then he realized that, if anything, their curiosity would only make them more likely to come. They'd probably all want a poke around his home, to see if the rumors about the treasure hidden there were true. Honestly, you bring _one_ chest of gold back from your adventures, and suddenly you own an alleged treasure hoard.

He made it to the inn all right. The signature green dragon, the inn's namesake, was emblazoned on the wooden sign in front. The inn had come to be a popular haunt, and it did serve some of the best ale Bilbo ever did taste. Which is why he would settle for nothing less when it came to his party. He pushed the door open, and heard the familiar roar of the hearth within, accompanied, as usual, by the cheers and shouts of a merry bunch of drunk patrons. A bluster of warmth heated his face, and a grin tugged at his lips. He had as yet only inhaled the strong scent of alcohol, and already he was starting to feel rosy and warm and full of good cheer. Now, all that was left was to find the tavern keep...

 _Strange_ , Bilbo thought to himself. _Where is he?_

Everyone _but_ the tavern keep seemed to be here. Feeling just a twinge of annoyance, Bilbo hurried up to the counter and leaned forward, to catch the bartender's attention, "Excuse me...Miss?"

A lass with wavy, chestnut brown hair strewn across a dingy-looking apron turned to fix him with a welcoming smile, "Hullo, Sir, may I fetch you something to drink?"

He cast his gaze downwards and waved away the offer as though it were a gnat, "No, no, that won't be necessary, thank you." He chanced another glance at her, then added, "Would you mind fetching me Barmy Rootknot?"

The lass knit her brows apologetically, "I'm sorry, but he's not here today...had to leave on urgent business, I'm afraid." She began to smooth the wrinkles out of her apron, as though that would somehow make up for the noticeable brown splotches that stained it from top to bottom. "He left me in charge, though. Perhaps I can be of some assistance?"

"He said he would be here today," Bilbo muttered under his breath, and when he realized the bartender was giving him anxious looks, he glanced back up at her and cast her a reassuring smile. "I made quite specific arrangements with Barmy, I'm afraid I'll have to speak with him myself." He was actually very curious to see what business could be so urgent as to pull Rootknot away from his inn, but didn't want to turn out like his nosy Sackville relatives, and refrained from asking.

"Are you sure you don't even want a half a pint, Sir?" the bartender offered sweetly.

"...no, no, thank you," Bilbo persisted, careful to keep the breathiness of exasperation out of his tone. "Will you please just tell Mr. Rootknot that I'll meet him here tomorrow, instead?"

She nodded vigorously, "Of course."

"Thank you," he said for what must've been the third time. "Good day."

And, hitching his thumbs in his pockets, he strolled out of the inn, determined not to be disheartened by this minor setback.

When at last he came home, he noticed that dreadful Lobelia lurking around his Smial again. _For goodness's sakes, that woman..._

"Good day, Lobelia," said Bilbo, clearing his throat pointedly. However, what Lobelia did next was a touch disconcerting, for, rather than shooting her usual nasty glare at him, she merely smirked innocently, bopping the air with her umbrella in a sort of half-wave of acknowledgement.

"Good day, Bilbo," she trilled, in a sing-song voice that could sound naught but sinister to Master Baggins. And she trotted down the earthy brown path with a spring in her step.


End file.
